


i can see you shaking when we kiss

by perissologist



Series: Pop Psychology [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, M/M, contains: snark. sex. sadness., pure angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perissologist/pseuds/perissologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>You still hit me like a buzz,<br/>seventeen and drunk enough to wish.</em>
  <br/>
  
</p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p> Jason Todd has loved Dick Grayson his entire life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can see you shaking when we kiss

_I could feel the red rain on me._

_I can see you shaking when we kiss._

_You still hit me like a buzz,_

_seventeen and drunk enough to wish._

 

“You okay there?”

 

Jason halts, half-turning towards the source of the voice. Robin is perched on the lip of the rooftop just above him, head cocked, watching him with a friendly smile. Jason’s eyes widen, and instinctively, the arm holding the loaf of Wonderbread he’d stolen from the gas station around the corner draws closer to his side. From the way Robin’s milked-out eyes flicker downwards, he notices; but he doesn't say a thing, just swings easily over the edge of the roof to land on his feet, light as a bird, next to Jason on the rank floor of the alley.

 

“A kid like you shouldn’t be out alone this time of the night,” he says, eyeing Jason carefully.

 

Jason sniffs, even as he resists the urge to shrink backwards into the shadows. “‘M not a kid,” he mumbles. He turned ten last week; he can take care of himself. 

 

Robin’s lips tilt upwards. “Still.” He glances around. “You got a home?”

 

Jason hesitates. His mother always told him to never give out any information about himself to strangers—but this isn’t a stranger, not really. This is Robin, the Boy Wonder, one of Gotham’s protectors. Jason swallows and glances up the street. “Yeah,” he says, a little more confidently this time. “Just up there.”

 

Robin flashes him a brilliant smile, all warmth and reassurance, and already Jason can feel himself relaxing. “C’mon, then,” he says, gesturing. “I’ll walk you home.”

 

~*~

 

“So this is who you got to replace me, huh?”

 

The last time Jason saw him, Robin was still in the panties and pixie boots, all easygoing smiles and blank, calculating eyes packaged up in a neat yellow cape. Now, he’s finally grown into his strong shoulders and whiplike build, dressed in some dumb-looking sky-blue circus costume with a V-neck that goes down to his clavicle—and he doesn’t go by Robin, not anymore. _No, that’s me_ , Jason reminds himself, glancing down at his own brightly colored attire. _I’m in the pixie boots now._

 

Batman—Bruce—barely responds, just a twitch of his jaw to indicate that he’d heard anything at all. Nightwing just laughs, a short, hollow sound. “Well, Batman,” he says. “You always did move fast.”

 

Jason just keeps quiet, part of him resentful that Nightwing doesn’t remember, part of him glad.

 

~*~

 

“Listen,” Dick starts, looking uncomfortable, and Jason resists the urge to squirm. He really regrets agreeing to this “talk,” even if Alfred practically forced it upon them both, under threat of withdrawing laundry assistance (for Dick) and macadamia nut cookies (for Jason) for a full month. “I don’t—dislike you, or resent you, or anything like that. It’s just—Bruce and I have a…complicated relationship. It has nothing to do with you, or your abilities as Robin.”

 

“Right.” Jason keeps his gaze fixed steadfastly on own hands. “Um. Thanks.”

 

Dick exhales, shakes himself, and reaches for something under his chair. “In fact, I—I actually have something for you.” He lifts a nondescript cardboard box off the floor and sets it on the table between them. “As a sort of—good luck to you, in your new job.”

 

When Jason reaches forward and lifts off the lid, the breath freezes in his throat. He looks up at Dick, speechless; the other boy—man?—is beginning to smile. “Is this—?”

 

“Yeah,” Dick says, giving a sheepish laugh as he runs a hand through his hair. “My original Robin suit. You don’t have to wear it, of course, but I just thought it might be a nice gesture—”

 

“No, this is _awesome!_ ” Jason lifts out the familiar yellow cape with awestruck reverence, thinking of just how many supervillains had been taken down in those very garments. “Dude, thanks!”

 

Dick grins, eyes bright and bluer than the sea, and Jason suddenly feels inexplicably warm inside. “Anytime,” he says, and Jason believes him.

 

~*~

 

“Little Wing!” Dick opens his apartment door wide and ushers Jason in, handsome features lit up in pleasant surprise. “Good to see you! What are you doing here?”

 

“Uh.” Jason looks around at the congregation of hale, attractive young adults filling the sitting room of Dick’s apartment and feels his face instantly heat up. “Sorry, I didn’t know you’d have company, I can come back another time—”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you came all this way.” Dick pulls Jason along with him, until he’s practically standing in the middle of the gathering, steadily turning the color of a ripe tomato. “Guys, this is my little brother, Jason; Jason, these are the Titans.”

 

A young woman with dark hair and a silver headband smiles up at him, curious. “You’re the new Robin, right?”

 

“Not new,” Jason responds automatically, then flushers harder. “Uh—I mean—I’ve been Robin, for three years now.”

 

“Yeah, Donna, give the kid some credit,” laughs a man with wild carrot-colored hair and freckles all over him, mouth stretched in a wide grin. He holds his hand up in a quick wave. “Wally,” he introduces himself. “Nice to meetcha.”

 

“Christ, Bruce really has a type, doesn’t he?” notes another redhead, this one sporting a tan and a tribal tattoo on his right bicep. He glances between Dick and Jason and smirks over the mouth of his beer. “The resemblance is remarkable.”

 

Jason tenses, but Dick is laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t be an asshole, Roy,” he says, and the amusement is still warm on his face when he looks to Jason. “So, what’s the occasion, Jaybird?”

 

“Uh.” Jason’s gaze darts towards the Titans. “I was—I was actually hoping I could crash with you for a while, if that’s okay.”

 

Dick doesn’t so much as blink, but Jason has been watching him, admiring him, trying to _be_ him for too long to miss when the switch flicks in his eyes. “Of course, Little Wing, you know you’re welcome here any time.” He glances to his friends, even as he reaches out and takes Jason’s wrist. “You guys start the movie; I’m gonna get Jason a drink and something to eat.” He doesn’t give Jason the chance to even think about declining before he’s dragging them both out of the room, and Jason muses that they don’t call Nightwing the best for nothing.

 

In the kitchen, Dick pours Jason a soda before turning to him, gaze steady and concerned. “Is everything alright, Jay?”

 

Jason takes the soda and drinks it to avoid looking Dick in the eye. “Yeah, of course; just felt like getting away for a bit, that’s all.”

 

Not only does Dick’s expression tell Jason he isn’t buying it, it also says he knows Jason knows he isn’t buying it. “Everything okay with Bruce?”

 

Jason sets down the glass, summons all of his nerve, and meets Dick’s gaze. “Yeah, we’re fine, it’s just—you know how he gets. Like the world is gonna fall apart if he doesn’t control every move I make. Just needed a break, y’know?”

 

Jason holds his breath, waits—and relaxes when Dick nods, sympathy flashing over his face. “Yeah, I know,” he says, and Jason _knew_ it would work; if anyone can relate to suffocating under Bruce’s command, it’s his first ward. “Feel free to stay here as long as you need, okay?” he steps forward and throws his arm around Jason’s neck, dragging him in for a quick hug. “I miss spending time with you, Little Wing.”

 

Jason closes his eyes and lets himself bury his face in Dick’s neck. “I know,” he says. “Me, too.”

 

He promises himself that, when he gets back from Ethiopia, he’ll make a point of asking for more training with Nightwing. He doesn’t know what it is about Dick Grayson, but he can’t shake the feeling that every minute he isn’t spending with his adoptive older brother is time he’ll regret wasting.

 

~*~

 

The first glimpse Jason catches of Nightwing when he returns to Gotham after five very long years away is the vigilante sprinting across the rooftops, a younger boy at his side, laughter echoing through the night as he teaches the new Robin how to grapple just right to get the longest time in the air. Watching them makes the livid green rage that now resides permanently in Jason’s chest boil hot, and he has to turn away, before he does something stupid like shoot them bothand blow his cover—because what hurts, almost more than the fucking _existence_ of the shiny new Robin himself, is the way Dick looks in the night, dark hair blowing back from his face, arching against the stars like nothing could ever hold him down, not even the death of a so-called little brother. _Exactly the same_ , Jason thinks, throat acrid with resentment as he shoots out his own grapple, heading for where he knows Batman will be tonight. _That makes one of us._

 

~*~

 

They spar in the roar of a thunderstorm, steam rising off the dirty Gotham streets as Jason smashes the butt of his rifle into Dick’s ribs. Dick grunts but doesn’t retreat, keeps pressing forward as Jason keeps stumbling back, and Jason has never before been so wildly grateful that he can’t see the blue of Dick’s eyes behind the milky lenses of his mask. Dick’s escrima sticks lie on the rooftop a dozen or so yards away, along with most of Jason’s heavy artillery; all he’s got now is his sniping rifle and his fists, the blood on his lips and the cancer in his heart. He raises the rifle again, this time intending to bring it down it across Dick’s face, but Dick’s hand comes up and grabs the barrel, twisting it away and out of Jason’s grip. He tosses the gun aside and Jason raises his fists, swings once, twice, misses both times, lets out a sound that’s halfway between an enraged scream and a desperate sob as Dick grabs his face in his hands and pulls him close, presses their foreheads together, breathes in his space. 

 

“Jay,” he says, voice cracking. “Please. Let us help. Let _me_ help.”

 

Bitterness swells in Jason’s chest at the tone of Dick’s voice, like it would be that easy, like all he has to do is turn those sad baby blues on the boy who used to worship him and Jason would crumble at his feet. Well. Jason didn’t die yesterday, and he knows the truth: He can’t go back. He can never go back. 

 

“Dickiebird,” he laughs, blood and rainwater mixing on his tongue, “there’s nothing left for you here.” For two painful, thundering heartbeats, there’s just Dick and the anguish on his face, the way he reaches out like he could somehow _save_ Jason, like Jason even _needs_ saving—and Jason hates it, can’t stand it, so he does the only thing he can think to do and surges forward to press his mouth to Dick’s in a bruising, breathless kiss. At first, Dick just freezes, eyes going wide—until Jason bites at his lower lip and he shudders, making a shocked, hungry sound against Jason’s mouth that Jason just _eats up._ Before Dick can reach up and grab him, Jason’s pushing him away, turning and running and flinging himself over the edge of the roof. He flies and falls and considers not catching himself, but Dick’s voice shouts “Jason!” like a warning, a curse and a plea all at once, and Jason growls under his breath and shoots out the grappling hook at the last possible second. He knows Dick can follow him if he wants to—he’s always been better at flying than Jason ever was—but he also doubts he will; still, when he reaches the roof of the building across the wide, busy road, he pulls himself up and runs, and doesn’t think about how, even after all these years, Dick still feels like home.

 

~*~

 

“ _Jason_ ,” Dick gasps, dark hair sprawling across the pillow as he arches into Jason’s thrust, eyes squeezed tight. “Jay, _please_ , god—”

 

“Look so good, pretty bird,” Jason murmurs, low, as his hands clench tight around Dick’s hips, grinding upward into where he’s buried in Dick’s body. “ _Feel_ so good, too.” He draws back and then thrusts forward again, harsh, and Dick fucking _whimpers_ , writhing underneath him.

 

“Jay,” he moans, and his eyes crack open, burning bright. “Jay, please, harder, _please_ —”

 

A wild laugh bubbles in Jason’s throat. “Look at you,” he rasps, freeing one hand from where he’s got Dick propped up against him to run his palm over the smooth expanse of Dick’s chest. “So fucking good for it, so needy—the great Nightwing, the first Boy Wonder, _begging_ for it—”

 

Dick gives a cry and reaches for him, fingers grasping uselessly in the air. “Jason,” he says, pleading. Jason slides his hand down to give Dick’s cock one smooth, tight stroke, and Dick comes, spine snapping upwards into a perfect bow, his near-pained “ _Ahh!_ ” echoing in the room. Jason groans as Dick goes limp and molten beneath him, getting in one final thrust before coming himself, shuddering out the length of his orgasm against Dick’s neck. By the time Dick comes back to himself enough to blink awake, Jason is dressed and gone, boots thudding down the fire escape outside, heart seizing in his chest.

 

~*~

 

“You know,” Dick says, after the dozenth or so time they’ve done this, watching Jason as he pulls his pants on at the edge of the bed. “You could stay, if you want.”

 

Jason stills, fingers twitching. At last, he glances over his shoulder, one dark eyebrow raised. “Who said I want?”

 

Dick frowns, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Fine, then _I_ want,” he says, as if he’s placating a pouting five-year-old. He holds out a hand, eyes intent and so very blue. “Stay?”

 

_Motherfucker._ Jason sighs, closes his eyes, imagines just walking out without another word and living the rest of his life knowing he put that wounded expression on Dick Grayson’s face; then he sighs, stands, and steps out of his pants again, trying to ignore Dick’s pleased smile as he climbs back under the covers. “Only because you’re so desperate,” he mumbles, and strictly informs himself that he feels nothing when Dick curls up against his side, head falling to his shoulder. When he wakes up in the morning to the slow rise and fall of Dick’s chest and the golden glow of his skin in the sunlight, his heart beats a reply to him, loud and clear: _Liar. Liar. Liar._

 

~*~

 

“Dickface, don’t you dare die on me,” Jason snarls as he drags Dick to a secluded area away from the battle, panic closing its vice-like grip around his throat. “I will never forgive you, you hear me? _Never_.”

 

Dick’s laugh is weak, nothing like his usual full-body cackle. “You always say that,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering upwards as Jason drops to his knees and pulls the injured hero into his lap. “Sometimes I think you’re just petty.”

 

“I am petty,” Jason snaps, lifting the hand Dick has pressed over his abdomen to inspect the wound. “In fact, I’m so petty that if you die right now fighting these stupid-as-fuck aliens who definitely don’t deserve the honor of having killed the great and almighty Nightwing, I will dig you up from your grave and throw you into the Lazarus Pit just so I can kill you myself.”

 

Dick’s shoulders shake; the laugh doesn’t even make it out of his throat. “Nah, y’wouldn’t,” he says, lips twitching. “You’re…” His voice falters, weakens. “All talk.”

 

“Dick,” Jason warns, then thinks _fuck it_ and tugs off his glove so he can peel away Dick’s domino mask. Dick’s eyes are hazy, unfocused, like he can’t physically keep them fixed in one place for any length of time. “Don’t test me, Dick, I’ll do it, I swear to god—”

 

Dick’s reply is interrupted by a wet, shuddering cough, his entire body tensing as he convulses in Jason’s arms. Jason swallows, hard, and holds Dick close, waits until he relaxes again, going limp in Jason’s hold. “Sorry,” he murmurs, roughly; a bubble of dark blood wells up at the corner of his mouth and slides down his throat.

 

“Dick,” Jason says, and his voice breaks, hot tears stinging his eyes as Dick’s lids flutter. He grasps Dick’s face in his palm, lowers his forehead until it’s resting against Dick’s. “Don’t you dare, you fucking asshole, don’t you _dare_ —”

 

“Sorry,” Dick says, again, and grins, just the slightest curve of his lips. Jason squeezes his eyes shut, feels the sobs choking him, and whispers, over and over, “Don’t, don’t, please, don’t,” hoping, pretending, wishing with everything he has inside him that Dick will still be smiling at him when he opens his eyes. 

 

_And you really got your hooks on me,_

_maybe that's the punishment for love._

_I still stay up late at night_

_trying to hear your voices in the halls._

**Author's Note:**

> listen...............................i'm sorry
> 
> (i rode the train home listening to Voices in the Hall by Neon Trees and thinking so intently about what my roommate likes to refer to as "gaydicks" that the conductor had to tap me on the shoulder to get my attention. long story short, i came home, wrote this in 2 hours while watching diners drive ins & dives, and shoved it into this collection months after last updating ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯)


End file.
